


Oblivion

by SephrinaRose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Bromance, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, References to Adult Activites, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephrinaRose/pseuds/SephrinaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski was a nobody.</p><p>He was a nobody, who didn't do anything right. So, when Scott McCall fell ill to a fatal heart disease and was in desperate need of a heart transplant...</p><p>He had never thought that his desperately needed saviour would come in the form of Genim Stilinski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not going to be pretty.
> 
> There will be angst. And there will be tears.
> 
> WARNING: Domestic violence.

Stilinski was a nobody.

Now, that may sound harsh to someone that didn't know of him...but he really was a nobody.

He didn't have any friends...and his family life was non-existent. Everyone knew of the ex-sheriff, the man who disappeared from everywhere but the pub when his wife died. And therefore, everyone knew his son.

And yet nobody knew his name.

He was just someone who faded into the background, and was only thought of to make people feel better about themselves.

He was a nobody, who didn't do anything right. So, when Scott McCall fell ill to a fatal heart disease and was in desperate need of a heart transplant...

He had never thought that his desperately needed saviour would come in the form of Genim Stilinski.

 

....

 

Today had started as any other for Stiles.

He had woke up early, his body clock working it's wonders. He sat up quietly, his movement casting the only sound in the dull and dark room.

He gently laid his feet on the floor, feeling the stained carpet the colour of rust between his toes. He smiled bitterly, looking out his window to see the rising sun.

It was time to start another day.

He gently moved around his room, slipping on same clothes with the barest of sounds. He gently picked up his shoes, before moving toward his door. He stopped at the door, hand on the handle as his deep breaths echoed back at his ears from the wood.

He twisted the handle with slightly shaking hands, peering out into the hall. From his limited vision, he could only see smashed beer bottles and spilled wine scattered across the hall.

He sighed in relief, before moving out into the hall, quiet as a mouse.

He cast a glance towards his fathers room, only to see it closed. He felt his body relax further as he gently moved to the stairs, only casting another glance back at the dirty closed door.

He heard a moan from the room, followed by rhythmic thumping.

Stiles curled his lip up in disgust, knowing exactly was his father was doing in the early hours of the morning. He was surprised he didn't have any siblings with the way his dad got around.

It wasn't like his mother was around to stop him anyway.

He swallowed, moving down the stairs to see what destruction there was this time. He walked around, house was covered in mess, from beer bottles to takeaway dishes. The couch was covered with beer bottle shards imbedded into the fabric. The kitchen was a dump, plates everywhere and glasses smashed on the floor.

Stiles went to the door, placing his shoes down next to some high heels that belonged to no member of his family.

He shivered...but he knew he really should be used to this.

It was time to clean again.

He gingerly went into the kitchen, leaning down and beginning to pick up the shards with his bare hands... It wasn't like he had anything else to clean with anyway. He winced as he cleaned, feeling the sharp edges dig into his skin.

He finished up, throwing the shards into the bin and picking out some stray shards from his palms and throwing the blood stained pieces into the bin. He made his way over to the cupboard, leaning down and carefully reached in to grab the medicine kit.

In a past life, his dad had been a Sheriff, always getting into scrapes with criminals to come home and get patched up at the kitchen table by his loving wife, while little Stiles watched from the doorway. So, the kit was full with minor to extensive treatment. Which was probably good, since his dad never thought to restock it, not even in his sober moments.

His dad had been a great sheriff, and a great cop...before it all turned to shit. He had been so happy, laughing with his wife and playing in the backyard with his son. A smile on his dad's face, twirling him in the air as he giggled delightedly in the afternoon sunshine.

But, that was before it all went away.

He sighed, sitting down on the floor as he expertly bandaged his wounds. When he finished, he lifted up his shirt to check on his others. He smiled, they were healing nicely...but he knew the large one across his vulnerable stretch of skin on his torso was going to scar.

Well...it could join the club.

He stood up, picking up the kit and stowing it away for the next time he would need it. Which, honestly, would probably be tomorrow.

Just as he shut the cupboard door, he heard talking from upstairs.

He jumped, before the sound of a door opening echoed down the house. His eyes widened as he stumbled to the door, pulling on his shoes with shaking fingers.

He didn't care. He would clean when he got home from school. But he couldn't let his father see him right now...not until he was sober.

He really wasn't in the mood to get hurt.

 

....

 

He left the home in a hurry, running down the street until he was out of sight from the house... Once he was, breathed a sigh of relief. He walked until he reached an underpass of the main road going through their little town.

He sat down, leaning against the graffitied wall. He pulled himself up against the cold and pokey wall, leaning his head back and looking up and the graffitied ceiling.

Stiles sighed again, exhaling and letting his shoulders slump. He gently reached into his bag, pulling out his cracked iPod (another apology gift given along with empty promises) and put the earphones in, cranking it up as he closed his eyes.

This was his life. A endless cycle, over and over again. Wake up, clean, go to school hungry, get ignored, come home, get beaten or (if he was lucky) get apologised profusely too, with all the promises of change.

It never happened, nothing changed. It was endless.

But...he was okay. He had always been a very passive person so this didn't hurt him as much as it really should. He got though everyday...with the smidgen of hope that his fathers words would come true. That his dad would stop screwing up everything and start being a proper father again.

Stiles was already missing one parent. He didn't need to lose both.

But even then, he accepted his life. And since then, it had been a bitter cycle. But...he was fine. He dealt with things as they came.

He could live like this...only because it was, in fact, living. He was thankful to be alive. To live his life.

Because many others couldn't even do that.

He made use of his appreciation of life, going into art and music. It helped him stay positive and appreciate what he had. He had his life...and that was enough for him.

He felt sunlight on his eyelids a while later, knowing it was time to he moving. He sat up, putting his earphones and iPod into a secret pocket in his bag, made by him so his occasional bully wouldn't find it.

He stood up, dragging himself from the cold floor and feeling his blood flow though his limbs. He inhaled deeply, and began walking.

It was finally lunch. His favourite time of day. No people, no bullies, no hurt. And besides. It was the only time of day that he could guarantee himself a proper meal.

Stiles grabbed his hastily packed lunch and quickly left the class, no one even noticing as he left. He walked out into the hall, holding his lunch close as he walked down the hall. People stood all around, not turning as he creeped past.

He was used to being ignored and forgotten, so this was no surprise.

When the people slowly thinned...he began to run. He ran though the halls, a smile on his face as he ran up the stairs and past the "faculty only" sign. He ran up, and threw his body into familiar but hidden "emergency" rooftop door. He pushed the heavy door open with his minimal weight, throwing himself onto the empty roof top.

He smiled, a little giggle escaping his lips.

It wasn't often he talked either...he leant that it was no use, nobody listened anyway.

He remembered a time when words had been a constant flow from his mouth, everything that crossed his mind shared. He couldn't remember what it had felt like to feel so free.

But at least, on this rooftop..he could get a small taste of that again.

He went to the edge of the roof, sitting right up on the edge of the flat surface and curling into a comfortable ball. He looked down at his some of classmates, watching they guys kick around a soccer ball and the girls giggle from under the trees.

It just seemed so mundane to Stiles.

Carefree. Like one of those typical preteen American movies. Stiles' smile was bitter, remembering that life was not like that. Not to him.

That's why he liked coming up here, watching them all. Reminding himself that pain was not the only thing in this life.

His smile grew peaceful, and his body relaxed fully. He shut his eyes as he inhaled, feeling the wind caress his face and hair.

He loved it up here.

With the wind in his hair, ears only filled with rustling leaves and of laughter from the students below. Not of enraged screams and last whispered breaths.

Because, for once in his life...He felt alive. Not just surviving. Not barely making it through....But alive. Because he was slowly forgetting what it felt like. His mom had been the embodiment of life. Of smiles and laughter. Happiness. The things Stiles craved.

But she'd taken it with her.

It was all gone.

And Stiles was trying to remember what it felt like to be loved.

 

.....

 

School went on, each period blending into the next. Before something happened...something that had Stiles snapping out of the stupor he preserved to deal with everyone pretending he didn't exist.

A secretary came into the room, handing a slip of paper to the teacher, a sad smile on her face. She left hurriedly, and everyone turned to look at the teacher expectantly.

"The school has just received word that Scott McCall will no longer be attending school on a regular basis. You are his classmates, so you are entitled to know the reasoning in order to be delicate towards him. He has been diagnosed with a heart disease, and it will be fatal if he doesn't receive a donated heart." The teacher didn't pause, speaking like she was talking about the weather.

"Due to his treatment, he will only come to school twice a week. Please he thoughtful and kind to him during this hard time" the teacher finished.

Silence.

All of a sudden, pandemonium erupted. Girls cried, boys yelled. It was chaos. But, in the middle of it all, was Stiles. He sat still, watching the commotion as his mind jumped hurdles.

Scott McCall. Star lacrosse player and 'jock'. Loved by everyone, adored by the female population.

Was _dying?_

That shouldn't be fair. He had no much potential in life. He could go far. It would be far more beneficial towards society if people like Stiles died instead.

Stiles shook his head, clearing his descending thoughts.

Life did as it wished, and took lives when they where due. It was up to McCall wether he would take the right steps to live and succeed. It was something Stiles learnt to do, and now McCall would have to learn fast.

Or he would die. As simple as that.

But inside... Stiles hoped he would survive. He deserved to live, he was one of the kinder souls on this earth. Stiles had seen that puppy dog smile, sometimes even directed his way as they past in the halls. Stiles knew he smiled at everyone, but It was a weird sensation to dwell over.

Because nobody smiled at Stiles.

But, life would take it's course, and you must fight to stay alive. That's Stiles had done every single day since his life became this. It was something he had learnt to live with...And now McCall would have to.

Because, even good people die.

And Stiles knew that all too well.

 

 

.....

 

His father had not been sober when he got home. He had drunk even more when Stiles was gone with his partner from this morning. She was gone, but he was abusive as ever.

See, when his dad was drunk...he was out of control. That was how most of their furniture ended up in various stages of destruction. He slept around, got drunk: all to starve the ache in his chest. Starve the ache of loss and absence.

But every time...every time he he became sober, his dad regretted every second. Like when he hurt Stiles.

Like now.

"I'm so so sorry my boy " he cried as Stiles laid on the floor, carpet staining even further with his blood. Stiles couldn't move...his dad had taken a blunt knife to him earlier on.

Stiles stared up at the ceiling passively, his dad fretting pitifully at his side: as his blood was slowly soaked up by the carpet.

He had marks everywhere, some deep enough that it had cut into his muscles when he stabbed him. But, on the non-existent bright side...it was a small knife, no the damage wasn't too deep.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.

"I'm so sorry son."

_No you're not_

"I didn't mean to."

_Then why did you?_

"It's not my fault."

_Yes it is._

"I would never hurt you if I was sober."

_Hm, evidence points otherwise._

"I'll never hurt you again, I promise."

 _Unlikely_.

It was the same thing, over and over again. Like a broken record that nobody could be bothered fixing.

His dad could say it all; but he would never live up to his own promises. Stiles knew that...but his hope was still there that he would.

But that hope was slowly fading away, piece by piece every time his dad beat him.

And he didn't know what he was going to do when it went away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More I guess. It's all written out.
> 
> :)

The weekend past with Stiles hiding away as his wounds healed. The worst one was in his left bicep muscle. It was an inch deep, right into the tissue. He couldn't move it very well, but he was slowly getting better.

Slowly.

He relaxed only in his room, earbuds and music blaring as his father drank himself into oblivion.

As a song finished, he heard two pairs of feet stomp up the stairs. He heard his dad laugh, and Stiles smiles a little. It was a sound that brought back so many memories, mixed with the higher pitched laughter from his mom.

But then another, ugly haggling laugh echoed instead of his mother's from outside his door.

The smile fell from Stiles face

 

He cringed, hearing them enter his dad's room to do the thing they did every night.

Stiles chose a new song and cranked up the music, getting up from his bed as the wall next to his bed started thumping. He scowled hatefully at the wall, before going and opening his widow. He felt the fresh air on his skin and a peaceful expression overtook his features.

A cry of pleasure, louder than his own music.

That was it.

Stiles shoved his iPod into his jeans and climbed out the window. He grabbed the roof tiles, and used his non-existent upper body strength to lift himself onto the roof.

When he finally clambered up, he turned and sat. His legs sung and the wind swirled around him. He couldn't hear a single thing.

He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.

He started narrowing down his senses. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine as the music took over. He couldn't feel the tiles beneath him, he couldn't taste the foul air of his home, he couldn't see a single thing and he couldn't smell the sweat and alcohol of his house.

He could only hear his music, filling in the holes left behind by his mother.

......

 

Scott needed to get away. At home, his mother fussed over everything he did. It had gotten far worse recently...when she found out that there were no donors compatible to him

He really was going to die.

He just wanted to get away from it all...just for a moment. He needed to leave the emotional stress and go for a walk.

And that was when he found himself watching Stiles Stilinski.

The weird boy was sitting on his roof, music in his ears and his eyes closed. Curious, Scott moved closer. When he was at their front gate...he heard the noise from inside.

He was shocked.

He knew the nobody didn't have a good family life. He knew his mother had passed a few years ago.

So why were those sounds echoing from his house?

Suddenly, he felt like he understood the outcast for a second. He was outside, music blaring in his ears and eyes closed.

He was escaping...just like Scott.

Those noises where not made by his parents...and that could break any child. He was alone in the world, separate from the normal humans.

Scott was dying, and Stiles was cast away.

They were the same. Different...but all too similar. They didn't fit in with the rest if the world, not anymore.

Suddenly, feeling like he was snooping; Scott quickly went around the corner, taking one last glance at the boy on the roof as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

 

...

 

School was...different.

Everyone fussed over Scott, never leaving his side...But he could still feel the older boy's eyes on him.

It was weird, and the slightest bit scary...nobody looked at him. Everyone made a point to look the other way and pretend they didn't see anything.

He was about to walk home, when he felt eyes on him again. Finally worked up enough, he turned sharply around and looked back at him. Sure enough, Scott stood there, alone, looking straight at him.

Stiles looked at him, making eye contact...something he hadn't experienced in a long time. He looked into those hazel eyes, staring imploringly at the boy.

Why was he looking at him? Why wouldn't he look away like everyone else? Why was he different?

He stared at him longer, and Scott moved closer, closing the distance to 10 meters before Stiles could comprehend, with his long legs.

"Why?" Stiles asked, voice wavering slightly...he hadn't talked at school for over a year, even if no one else was around.

"...We're alike, Stilinski " he said, simply as he looked into Stiles' eyes.

Stiles said nothing, only assessing him quietly. After a long pause, Scott tried to alleviate the tension, smiling his famous dopey grin that all the girls got flustered over.

Stiles said nothing for another pause.

Finally, after what felt like forever. Stiles looked him straight in the eyes, showing deep emotion in his normally closed off expression.

"Don't smile unless you mean it McCall" he said, full sincerity.

With that he turned...and walked away.

....

Scott was shocked.

Stilinski had seen what no one else bothered to.

He was not happy. Hell, even though he kept up the façade, it was quite obvious he was not happy. He was dying for peats sake. No physiologically stable person would be happy about that.

He was dying, no cure in sight. Sure, the surgery was simple enough...but without a new heart, he was dead.

But...there was one more problem. He had the AB- blood type. The rarest blood type. So even if they found the right sized heart (and that was a struggle in itself, he had a small heart because he was young) he needed the right blood type.

And that was one in a million. So, essentially: he was gonna die. Stilinski saw...and he understood.

Life was not fair, and they both knew that all too well.

 

....

 

 

Tuesday had started as relatively good day, even with McCall watching his every move.

At lunch, he ran to his roof again. He had been against the railing for 5 minutes when the door opened. Stiles immediately freaked out, thinking it was their Prefect.

But then a familiar head if hair poked around the corner, he relaxed only a fraction.

"What do you want?" He said, blunt and unhappy now that someone had come to his secret space.

The boy turned, shutting the door with a bang. He looked at Stiles sitting on the edge of the roof, before smiling again.

"I wanted to talk to you about-"

"Don't smile unless you mean it" Stiles interrupted bluntly, he didn't like it when someone was so fake and unrealistic.

"Oh" McCall said, face falling."Yeah, I can't help it really, It's just something I do now." He said, sitting a few feet away from Stiles.

Stiles curled up tighter at his proximity.

"Then why do you?" He asked; seeing that McCall had every intention of staying.

"I...I don't know. I guess everyone was relying on me to be prefect all the time, but I couldn't...so I started pretending to be happy and fine all the time to raise the teams spirits. It kind just became a thing in everything now." He said, feeling completely comfortable around Stiles.

"Well, don't do it around me. I can't stand it when people aren't true to themselves." He said, looking at him before turning away, watching his classmates.

Minutes past and neither said anything.

"Why aren't you playing with them McCall?" Stiles asked, breaking the silence.

"I want to talk to you instead. You understand me better than anyone...I'd hope we could be friends one day" he answered honestly.

Stiles' heart jumped at the thought...but he quickly squashed it.

"Nobody wants to be friends with me McCall. You would be happier with others more like you" he said, forever blunt.

"...But you are like me, Genim" McCall said, staring at him as the boy whipped around to face him.

"I...You don't-" Stiles had nothing to argue against: McCall was right. They were both outcasts now. Cast aside by circumstance. At least with Stiles nobody bothered to hide it. With him on the other hand, everyone was so fake. He was just a item now, somebody to talk about. People couldnt look past his illness. Not anymore.

"Don't call me that." Stiles said instead, shaking his head and looking back down as teens started making their way in.

"Wh-what? What do I call you then?" McCall asked. That was his name. McCall wasn't proud that he'd had to look it up in last years photo book. But at least he knew.

It was more than most people bothered to know.

Stilinski got up and walked past him as he stuttered, lunch rubbish in hand. He got to the door and opened it, before looking back at the boy who had turned to face him.

"Call me Stiles" he said, and the door shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't react, frozen with fear and just the simple fact that this was his father . When children were born, father formed a natural protective nature over their child. That nature turned into a bond as the child aged. And the child looked to the father as a stability in their lives. Some one to come to when they faced problems.
> 
> Except with Stiles...his father was his problem.
> 
> And a violent one it may seem.

The weeks rolled by...and the two boys inched closer. Neither talked in company, but alone they could talk for hours.

"Hey Stiles?" Scott asked on one of those days. They were on the roof, watching their classmates play below, the wind moving though their hair.

"Yeah?" Stiles answered, not turning to face him as he continued to watch the people bellow.

"...What do you think it's like to die?" He asked.

He saw Stiles turn to face him from the corner of his eye. He saw the despair come into his eyes as he looked Scott over.

"I...I really don't know." He stated honestly, and Scott turned to face him, their bodies only a metre apart.

"I think there might be some deity that I haven't discovered yet. I believe that they decide on whether we were good people or not, judging our entire lives. I believe that there could be damnation and paradise...maybe even an in between. I know everyone thinks they deserve paradise...but I don't think half of us really deserve it."

"Most of us don't do much good or much bad. We just coast through life, not really trying to do either...I think there will be oblivion. Only the really good or really bad will actually get a trial on their lives...the rest of us just float in oblivion, forever."

"Me? I'm counting on oblivion. It would be just perfect for me: no emotions, no feelings, no hurt. I want oblivion; to me...it would be my paradise. I don't want a conscious after death. I don't want to have this sorry excuse for a life to be the only thing I can reflect on."

"It would be fantastic if oblivion was the only thing awaiting me. It's the only thing I want...and I guess it's the only thing I deserve. But that's fine, perfect actually: I don't think I deserve any special treatment...but I think you might."

He looked into Scott's hazel eyes, letting his soul flow and merge with his...letting down the barriers he'd built after years of hurt.

"I can tell you're a good soul, and you will do something miraculous when you're older which will ensure your paradise. Me, on the other hand...I don't think I'll live that long"

It was silence for a moment, both boys looking into each other's eyes.

"...you say that as if you where the one dying here" Scott responded, voice quiet. Stiles shook his head, before looking into the sky and away from his piercing eyes.

"Well, we both know that you know what my life is like. It's not miraculous or fulfilling...one day, - maybe soon, maybe never - my father will go too far and I won't..." He stopped. Before looking down at his shaking hands, clenching them tightly, as if to stop their sporadic movement.

"...I won't be around to patch up my own wounds" Stiles said, rolling his lip between his teeth as he looked out over the horizon again.

"But...I'm dying Stiles, now. I probably won't live to do anything miraculous" Scott said.

Stiles moved suddenly. One moment he was deflated, looking out into the sunset as he contemplated his horrible life. The next, he was on his knees in front of Scott , one hand on his shoulder and the other over his beating heart. He stared into Scott's eyes, his sudden strength and powerful emotions rolling off him.

"...but I believe you have the strength to live through this. Your heart may not be healthy but it is strong. You will live through this...and believe me, if you give up I will _personally_ bring you back from the dead to slap you across the face for being so stupid" Stiles said, a pout forming on his lips.

Scott looked over him for a moment...before he burst out laughing. Now, this laugh wasn't his careless laugh...but a real one, straight from his heart.

"Wha-" Stiles questioned, falling back onto his haunches as his strength seemed to leave him.

Scott grabbed him back, before he smashed him into his chest. Stiles gaped like a fish, before he relaxed into the boys grip, a smile coming onto his face.

"I'm counting on it" Scott said between his gasps of laughter.

Stiles smiled even wider, and snaked his own arms around the boys middle, hugging him back.

They stayed like that, Stiles legs on either side of Scott's and their arms wrapped around each other.

...Until their prefect came up and forced them to get back into class.

 

....

 

Stiles' wounds were almost healed. He felt little pain anymore.

But that was all about to change.

He came home on a Friday evening, smiling at something Scott said. But he was too happy to notice his father in the living room.

Alone.

"Genim~" He called, voice sickly sweet. Stiles immediately tensed, smile dropping from his face and his body beginning to close off...preparing for what was to come. Damnit.. He must have not shut the door quiet enough. He hadn't been careful.

He quietly laid down his bag and took off his shoes. Once he was done, he padded over on socked feet to see his mother. He crept into the room, head down.

"Hi there baby, how was school?" His dad asked, the stench of alcohol making Stiles' eyes water. He didn't answer. It was a trick question, and he learned not to answer.

"See, I wouldn't even know anything if the school didn't contact me. You're not even around enough to talk to me... Do you not love me? I love you so much...but most days I don't even see you." The ex-sheriff said, voice beginning to thicken with anger.

"You're a horrible child. You don't care about your father, when I care so much about you" he said, sitting up drunkenly with his beer, his body swaying lightly.

Stiles scowled at the ground. He felt his own anger rise in retaliation. "No you don't" he said under his breath, eyes not leaving the floor. He knew he shouldn't do this...but he'd had enough. He focused on a single bloodstain on the floor, building his courage.

"Excuse you?!" His dad exclaimed, and Stiles could hear the scowl in his voice. The older man stood up with only a slight wobble, standing a meter from him.

Stiles looked up from the ground, eyes burning in anger.

"You don't care about me." He stated.

His dad looked taken aback, before he scowled again, eyes livid. His uncontrolled and wobbly movements soon stabilising as his anger rose.

"I do too you _ungrateful_ child!" He screamed...and swung his fist forward, sending his beer at him.

He couldn't react, frozen with fear and just the simple fact that this was his father . When children were born, father formed a natural protective nature over their child. That nature turned into a bond as the child aged. And the child looked to the father as a stability in their lives. Some one to come to when they faced problems.

Except with Stiles...his father was his problem.

And a violent one it may seem.

His father seemed to have lost that natural nature...the alcohol eating away at his judgment. So really: he should have known that the fact that this man was his father...would not stop him from doing what he was about to do.

He should have known from day one.

It collided with his face, shattering on impact. He felt every single shard dig into his face, covering his cheek all the way up to his forehead...he could feel glass imbedded into his eyelid.

He screamed, falling back into the coffee table. He fell, the edge slamming into his spine at a unnatural angle. He felt unbearable pain run up his back as his face throbbed. He screamed in pain – both emotional and physical - before he crumpled brokenly to the ground.

And that was when his father set onto him.

He spat, kicked, punched...everything.

When he was finally done, he wobbled up the stairs, disappearing to sleep.

Stiles laid completely still. He breathed tiny breaths to stop his chest from moving too much. He tried to assess the damage, feeling where his pain was the worst. One or two broken ribs, heavy bruising to both his bones and tissue. Also, a broken heart and shattered innocence.

He'd always lived thinking his father would somehow find the sense...that he realised that this was too far. But his dad hadn't realised...and here Stiles was.

Broken.

But, he knew his face was the worst.

He could feel the blood running down the right side of his face. He could feel the shards in his flesh, digging in deep. But, his eye: He felt the shard go though his eyelid and...

And he would never see again.

He felt his heart beat speed up at the implications, adrenaline trying to numb his pain. His heart beat went a mile an hour and his breathing laboured.

Stiles could feel himself panicking. He needed a hospital, becuase he couldn't fix himself this time.

And with that burning desire in mind...his body crumpled to exhaustion.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time he woke...he was in hospital.

His dad must have woken up sober and realised what he had done wasn't the usual. And, his dad most definitely weaved a fantastic lie to make sure he wasn't blamed.

Stiles opened his eyes, but only one opened.

Ah..that was right.

He didn't know why he was so accepting of his new change. Any normal person would be crying and screaming, mourning the loss of something that kept them normal. They didn't like to think something like this would affect their social standing and what people thought of them.

But Stiles had no social life to speak of...and he had never been normal.

He sat up, slowly, as not to open his other wounds. He reached up with one hand, feeling the gauze over his eye. He stroked the fabric, feeling no pain or glass beneath. Seemed the doctors had done their job, probably with a local anaesthetic.

He liked this treatment much better than his own. There was no pain, no suffering.

"Mr Stilinski?" Was the authoritative voice from across the room. Stiles turned to see the open door, a greying doctor standing on the threshold.

"I am Dr Graham, it's nice to meet you" he said, walking inside the room.

Stiles only smiled, eyes bright and face healthy...despite the scratch marks marring his creamy complexion.

Dr Graham frowned internally. The morphine should be wearing down by now, it was only a small dose. He looked at the clipboard in his hand, checking the time of administration and dosage.

It all checked out...so why did he look so pain free? He would be in pain right now...

Unless he was used to pain.

Dr Graham shook his head. His father had seemed lovely and caring, and it seemed impossible that he would allow his son to feel enough pain on a regular basis to build up a tolerance.

Probably just a slight miscalculation.

"How do you feel today?" He asked, moving forward and checking that his I.V was in prefect order.

The boy still said nothing, only watching him as he worked, curious.

"...are you interested in Medicine?" He asked, looking down at the boy for a moment.

The boy shook his head, looking at his hands folded in his lap. Dr Graham frowned...he certainly was a strange boy.

He shifted his weight and pressed his foot on the pedal, clipboard under his arm as he adjusted the boy's pillows. The bed slowly folded until he reached a comfortable sitting position.

"There you go...nice and comfy" he said, lightening his tone.

It was starting to feel like he was the only party in this conversation.

"So" he said, pulling up a chair at the boy's bedside. "I am your doctor for your stay here. And...I'm afraid I do not have very good news for you" he began, and the boy turned to face him.

"I'm afraid there is nothing we can do for your eye...you will be blind" he said, and tensed for the usual reaction.

...And didn't hear a single thing.

He attention drew back to the teenage boy. He was only sitting very still, hand caressing his wounded eye though the bandage. He stayed still for a moment more, seemingly lost in thought. Then, he nodded, a few slow head bobs as he stared into the distance.

Dr Graham was confused. What was this boy? He didn't react like any other to horrible news...and he had yet to utter a single syllable to him.

He was quiet, thoughtful.

...He was becoming one of the most interesting patients Dr Graham had.

"I'm also afraid you have a very rare blood type, so we couldn't give you much blood to help you recover. You will be weak for a few days as your body naturally replenishes your blood" he said, looking over the boy.

He still said nothing. Only smiling.

Definitely one of his most interesting patients.

....

At first impressions, the boy wasn't really much. With a underweight frame and thin limbs, he looked as though the slightest wind could blow him over. But...he also looked so broken.

When he walked in that hospital room door...he couldn't help but notice the despair behind those smiling eyes. His fragile body was so bruised...he couldn't walk. But his eyes...those eyes...

They were a beautiful hazel. Dark in the middle and slowly turning lighter as the iris continued. It was almost like there was a golden rim around the every edge.

But his face... It looked horrific. Horrible scratch lines randomly marring his face, some deep and others not so much. The doctor had been told of their severity, but it didn't fit on this boy's face. He also knew of what had caused this...but the angling of the cuts and bruising on his back suggested not only one collision caused these two major wounds.

Not to mention the other bruising and cuts that marred his body with no pattern in mind.

But, speculation was not in his job description. That would come to the police if the situation turned that way. So, he didn't pry.

Besides, he had been told of the boy's clumsiness.

After first impressions...he came to see another side of the boy.

He looked weak, but his mind was strong. He was strange, but interesting. His body language suggested a weakness, but it hid an untapped power.

And Dr Graham was intrigued.

....

Days flew by, and slowly Stiles' wounds started to heal. But...the scarring stayed behind. His eye was still beneath the bandage, but the scratches around it had formed into scars.

Stiles stood in front of his hospital rooms mirror, looking at his new appearance. He saw the scaring on his face, felt the bruising on his spine, felt the uneven skin were his ribs were resetting themselves.

Dr Graham stood behind him, ready and waiting for when Stiles was prepared. Stiles finished looking and feeling his other wounds, before looking up at the doctor though his reflection. He met the doctors eyes, and nodded.

The doctor reached around Stiles' head, he peeled the gauze from Stiles' eye, making sure he felt no pain.

Usually he wouldn't recommend to do this in front of a mirror. But the boy was strange, and wasn't effected like other people. He wanted to, and the doctor wasn't against that.

Stiles stood completely still as the doctor finished, bringing his arms down to his sides. Gauze in hand.

Stiles looked at his eye. It was sealed shut, a closed over hole in the middle. It really had been a large bit of glass. Stiles moved a shaky hand to feel his scaring, feel the now useless eyelid now that the eye was forever gone.

It was just another thing his father had taken away from him.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles was sleeping peacefully, with no dreams or nightmares to haunt him...when he heard a rather loud commotion.

He sat up, confusion evident on his face. He grasped at his side table, picking up the bandage and gingerly tying it over his eye and around his head. He stood up, his little toes touching the cold floor. He didn't know why he was getting up in the early hours...but he felt that this commotion had something to do with him.

He placed his feet on the floor, and his hospital night gown swirled in the sudden change of position, settling around his ankles. He slowly made his way over to the door, opening it slightly and peering outside.

He saw figures bustling in the dark. The main desk down the hall had people throwing paper around, franticly searching for something.

He took a step outside, keeping into the shadows and trying to stay vigilant with only one eye, as he crept towards the desk. He crept over, before going down into his hands and knees, crawling to the desk and sitting against it. He curled up into a ball, to reduce his size...and listened.

"Damnit! We're is it? There has to be something we can do!" Was a barely contained whisper as he heard more paper shuffle about.

"We are in so much trouble with Dr Graham if we don't help him. Just keep looking!" Was another whisper.

Stiles sat in the dark, contemplating. Suddenly he sat up, creeping around the semi-circle desk to reach the other corridor that splayed out from the desk, on their conjoining corner. As he got out of sight from the desk, he clambered to his feet and started walking fast. He jumped in smaller hallways and shadows when people ran past, talking in hushed voices as they ran towards the emergency area.

He slowly made his way to Dr Graham's office, staying just outside the door and listening for any other person that wasn't Dr Graham. When he heard nothing, he opened the door quickly and went inside...

Only to find no one there.

Damnit...he was going to get Dr Graham to tell him what was going on. But, being the head surgeon...he was bound to be addressing the problem.

Silly Stiles should have thought of that.

He sighed, before turning and leaving the room.

He virtually ran to emergency, the feeling he had growing stronger. He stumbled around corners, sometimes falling. He had lost half his sight...so it really was a given.his depth perception was totally out of whack.

Stiles got through the doors, and looked over the area.

There were people all over the place. So focused on what they were doing that they didn't even see him.

Finally a time when his apparent invisibility became useful.

.

He moved around. Staying to the shadows and following the bright light. He walked down the hall, before coming upon an operating room.

He heard a machine make sudden and irregular beeps...as though it was malfunctioning.

"Damnit...we are doing all we can" he heard Dr Graham's voice. "Just stay alive until then, Scott"

Stiles' world froze. The feeling in his chest growing unbearably strong, constricting his heart. He struggled to breathe, falling back into the wall behind him. His only friend...was dying just a meter away.

Stiles was supposed to be the one that got hurt.

He held a hand to his chest, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. As he slowly got his breathing to a healthy level, he pushed off the wall. He stumbled into the room, shoving open the door. Dr Graham turned to him, surprise etched over his face. "What are you doing here?"

But Stiles wasn't listening. He was looking at his best and only friend.

Scott looked so pale. His breathing was rapid, lungs trying to make up for his lacking heart. A sheen of sweat covered his face, making him glow under the operating rooms light...and he looked like he was in so much pain.

"What's wrong with him?" Stiles asked, not turning from his friend as he moved closer, grabbing and holding Scott's hand.

"I can't really tell you, its against-"

" _Please!_ " He yelled out, shocking the doctor into silence. He stared up at the doctor. "...he's all I've got"

The doctor swallowed audibly, looking at the boy as though for the first time. His eyes were bright with pure unadulterated fear. He seemed very close to the boy, enough that he was prepared to speak to the doctor without much of a thought. His careful crafted shell came down as soon as he saw his friend. His shell was what protected him...but he left himself vulnerable to help his friend.

And it was one of the most life changing things the surgeon had ever seen.

"His condition has spiralled down rapidly in the past few weeks...and there are still no donors. I'm afraid, that without help, he will die." He said, eyes falling down to the two boys clasped hands. Stiles looked down at Scott , mind running a million miles.

He couldn't just let Scott die like this. He still had so much life to live, so much potential to show the world. He deserved this life, he earned it. He had the right to live it.

And so Stiles do whatever he could to make sure he would.

"...what is his blood type?" He asked after his pause.

"What? You seriously can't be thinking-" Dr Graham started, shock painting his face

"Please Doctor...please" he begged, tightening his grasp on Scott's hand as he stared up at the doctor. Like he was gripping hold of reality, trying to keep the world together...keep Scott together.

"...AB negative" he said, looking away as Stiles eyes lit up.

He could...he really could. He could save Scott. He felt his heartbeat speed to a thousand miles as that feeling in his chest rose up.

Only now he realised that it was his desire to save Scott.

Stiles put his unoccupied hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. He knew the cost of this decision. He knew what would happen to him. But Scott had much more to live than he did. He had so much more potential.

Besides: Stiles was already falling apart. Already without one eye and had scarring covering every inch of his boy...all at the age of fifteen.

Scott deserved to live much more than he did.

"I'll do it" he said, eyes burning with his raging love for Scott.

"I can't just do that Genim, not only is it highly illegal, you will die without your heart there is a reason a donor is so rare.." The doctor said, trying to talk sense into the boy.

"Then what? I'll do anything. I'll sign something, anything...just let me save him" he pleaded, drawing feverish circles on Scott hand with his thumb.

"-well, technically...if you sign consent-" he said, eyes down as he thought it over himself.

"I'll do it then!" Stiles said, taking his hand off his heart and reaching out for paper and a pen. Never did he move his other hand from .

The Doctor tentatively ripped paper from his clip board and a pen from his pocket.

"Just...Stiles?" He asked as the boy began writing, using his preferred nickname. All professional orders of operation were out of the window anyway. "You know what you are doing right? This is your own life you are giving up. You have so much more to live...maybe it is his destiny to die?" He said, voice quiet.

Stiles looked at Scott, and for a moment Dr Graham thought he hadn't heard him.

"...Yes. I understand exactly what I am doing. I did contemplate if it was his time to die. I thought he had to fight to live. But, you can only do so much without help. He helped me from my darkness...and now it's my turn"

"But, your life?"

"Yes, my life. I would give anything for him, even this."

"But...your father? Doesn't he get a say-"

"No" Stiles interrupted, with such intensity that it shocked him into silence for the second time. "He does not get a say in this...he stopped making decisions for me long ago."

"But...he's your legal guardian?" He said, questioning.

"Yes doctor...but may I ask what she told you when I lost my eye?" Stiles implored, with a tilt of his head.

"He said that you fell into the table, onto a glass" he said, words growing less convincing.

"Ah, a likely story." Stiles said, trying to convey his point as fast as possible...he needed to save Scott . "Well, I'm going to tell you the truth".

"My father is a drunkard." He began, holding up a finger when the doctor tried to say something. "He's perfect when he's sober, but a monster once you add some alcohol." He began, stoking Scotts hand as his own shook, putting his raised hand down to stabilise it. He'd never told anyone before; even Scott had figured it out on his own.

"He's the one that hurt me. He hit me, always has since my mom passed. But that time it was much worse. He glassed me. Smashed his beer into my face."

The doctor only stood, silent. How had he not seen it? He never really believed the cover story...but he never thought it could be something like this.

"So...please Doctor. Let me make this decision for myself. Let me leave this world knowing I did something worthwhile."

In hindsight, he probably would have fought harder if he hadn't been so shocked by the sudden realisation, and his raging pity for Stiles.

"All right, once you sign...I'll take you into surgery"

....

Stiles laid back, breathing deeply and looking up at the roof.

This was good. He was doing the right thing. Scott was his friend. Friends helped each other...right? He didn't know, he'd never had a friend before. But, if there was something he did know: it was that Scott deserved this. He deserved to live a long and fulfilling life.

And Stiles would give that to him...even at the expense of his own.

He was glad for what he was doing... but he was also completely terrified. He had never been brave. He'd never been strong. He'd always been a wimp...but he was determined.

He could save Scott, and so he would.

"I'm going to give you the anaesthetic now" Dr Graham said. He knew this was probably going to get him fired. He might even go to jail.: but this boy clearly didn't want to live without Scott. And since Scott was dying...he would grant him that wish.

"Is there...anything that you would...ah...like to say for your father?" He asked tentatively.

Stiles stiffened momentarily, before relaxing again. Looking up at the ceiling as his expression turned melancholy.

"I'm sure one day he will realise his mistakes" Stiles began solemnly. 'I still love him, always will. But, I guess I won't be there the day he realises that he loved me...it will be too late. I'm sure he will realise one day, and I'm sorry that I won't be there." He breathed in, looking at the roof with tears in his eyes. "Tell her that I'm sorry I wasn't worth enough. That mom had to go away...and that I forgive him. I forgive him for what he has done to me."

The doctor bit his lip...he wasn't really sure he deserved that.

It was silence for a moment.

"...Is there anything you...want me to tell him?" The doctor asked, hand on the button to deliver his darkness.

Stiles only laid still, eyes glazing over for a second.

He remembered Scott's smile...his real smile. He remembered his laugh, and how his eyes would light up. He was so wonderful, so lively. So kind.

"Tell him that this was my choice. This is not his fault, never let him think that it is his fault. Tell him I'm sorry...and that I'll always love him" he said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The doctor looked down at him, absorbing the words so he would never forget them.

"I will. Just-" He began, before shaking his head. "...Never mind." He said, before turning to look into his eyes. "Are you ready?" He asked.

"Yes" Stiles said, his resolve filling every word. The doctor took in a depth breath, going to push in the button. "Oh, and Dr Graham?" Stiles asked, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Thank you" Stiles said, eyes shining with tears as he looked up at him.

Dr Graham smiled at him shakily, nodding once. Before he shut his eyes, and shoved back his own tears.

And then he pushed down the button.

.....

 _"I, Genim Stilinski, willingly give my heart to Scott McCall, in hopes that he will live where I cannot. I also give anything else of value in my body to those who need it"_  
....

 

Dr Graham watched as Stiles succumbed to the anaesthetic. His malnourished frame losing its stiffness and relaxing into the operating table.

He looked so small, so delicate.

...and completely vulnerable to what Dr Graham was about to do to him.

But, he had to remind himself. Stiles had asked for this. He wanted this...and the doctor still found it too hard to believe.

Nobody, nobody, did this for someone else. It was against human nature, against the very principles that society was built on.

Human beings lived believing that their lives where just as good as another's. Believing that they were worth the same amount. It was a required function to live healthily. Society would never function day to day without everyone putting themselves first.

You were supposed to believe in yourself. Supposed to.

Stiles didn't.

He was a broken boy...that was the simplest way to describe him. Or, you could narrow down to the finer details. He was broken, bullied, hurt, ignored, forgotten and beaten. So many words that were Stiles Stilinski.

But one single word could sum him up.

 _Broken_.

Low self esteem, high tolerance to pain, and a high capacity for love. Love only one boy had found. There could be so many more, so many more people who could feel that ever encompassing love and kindness.

But yet...here he was.

Dying for the only person he truly loved.

He thought he loved his father...but Dr Graham really didn't think that was possible.

How could you love someone that beat you every day? How could you feeling anything for someone who was supposed to protect you, but instead hurt you in every way?

It just wasn't right.

But...this was Stiles.

So many horrible things had been done to him, and in this twisted sense of reality he'd believed that things like his dad, deserved love.

Stiles was so horribly broken that he didn't even know that living with his father was dangerous. That he had no obligation to, just because he was his father.

Stiles had no sense of self preservation...because it had all been wiped away.

His father broke him. Shattered his self esteem and his body. He didn't understand that he meant something. That he was worth love and kindness, simply for existing. He didn't need to _earn_ love, it should be there for him.

He just didn't understand...

So that left him with no boundaries when it came to someone he loved. Nothing to say:

'Hey, aren't you worth anything?'

'Don't you deserve love?'

'Dying for someone else isn't normal!'

'Oblivion should not be desired...you have a life to live!'

'Don't do this, your life is worth something.'

'Don't base your worth on those who hurt you'

'You are important'

Nothing. Nothing to tell him that he was wonderful, that he was beautiful, that he was kind. Nothing to tell him to live...

All because of what his father did. 

But, this wish was still is own. He still asked for this. His mind was twisted and his body was broken...But it was **_his_**.

His wish was from his heart, without all the self worth and preservation to dull it down and reduce it to nothing.

It was pure.

And if Dr Graham was a man at all, he would have to respect that.

....

Stiles was cloaked in darkness. He couldn't see anything and it covered him, completed him. He didn't mind not being able to see...it was comforting. There was no light, no sound, no hurt and no pain.

It was beautiful.

He felt the darkness embrace him like a warm blanket on a cold day. Like drinking a cup of hot chocolate. Like the warmth of a mother's hug.

Something that he'd forgotten how it felt.

He smiled, closing his eyes and embracing it. He finally felt warm, loved...complete. He felt it fill in all the holes, all the scars covering his body and breaking his mind. He felt the darkness cradle him, heal him.

...and he wasn't so broken anymore.

He was healed. He was well. He was safe.

He was happy.

He let out a delighted laugh, basking in the feeling of being complete. It was wonderful, like nothing he had ever experienced.

Before it all fell away.

The darkness suddenly became a cold place. The soothing warmth slipped away and a cold set in. The chill hit him like a cold wind, freezing him on impact. His breathing increased, fear setting in and he reached out for that warmth again.

It was gone.

He tried to run, but he suddenly couldn't move. The cold closed in around him like ice, locking his ankles with freezing pain. He shrieked in surprise and fear.

Slowly, he felt it close in on him, slithering around his legs and arms, locking him in place with numbing cold as it touched his skin. He couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't think.

All he could feel was the freezing and numbing mixed together into a horrible symphony of pain.

He screamed out in panic, feeling it close around his neck and slither its way upwards. He couldn't move, his whole body had been encased in that inescapable pain. He struggled, thrashing and screaming as he felt it slither up his jaw bone.

He felt vulnerable. He felt useless. He couldn't do a single thing. He couldn't get out, couldn't escape, couldn't move.

It was closing in, shrinking around him. He felt the ice compress around him, closing around his chest. He began hyperventilating, trying to get enough air into his restricted lungs. He felt it constrict around his throat, slowly crushing his trachea.

He tried to scream, before breathing became his priority. He felt the cold come around his face, covering his ears and deafening him. He felt the cold come in on his cheeks, covering over his eyes and blinding him.

He choked out a scream, the icy cold becoming too much on his bare skin.

He gasped in a breath, the ice squeezing him and suffocating him. The ice was covering him completely, the icy trendils grasping at his mouth. He felt them begin to stretch across his mouth, just about to freeze him completely.

With the last of his breath, he let out a final chilling wail of terror: before the icy trendils cut him off.

Covering him, completing him.

Killing him.

...And then he sank into oblivion.

 .....

 Scott woke. Looking around blearily...he realised he was in a hospital room.

"What?" He asked the room. The last thing he remembered was dying, the cold creeping in.

So why was he alive?

He sat up, before falling back down again, agony racing though his chest. He laid back, biting his lip as the pain slowly dulled. He looked down at his chest as the pain faded away. A jagged incision, stitches racing up the length of the cut.

...he had a heart transplant.

But, Why? How?...Who?

Who have up their heart? Who thought him worthy enough?

Probably just a sudden anonymous donor, long dead before the heart was placed inside him. And honestly...despite his gratitude, it was slightly creepy.

A person he'd never met, a heart they'd survived off for years...it was all too strange.

"Scott. It's nice to see you awake" was a voice from the door.

"Dr Graham!" He said, smiling upon seeing a familiar face.

...before his expression made Scott's heart plummet.

"Wh-what's wrong doctor?" He asked, looking down at his own body, the incision over his heart. "Is it me?"

"Oh no...god no. It's not you, I couldn't live if it was you too. Although...It's your other half." The doctor said. Graham didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know how to tell someone that their most dearest just died for them. Sure, he'd told people bad news before; but never to two boy's so close to his heart.

"My other half? My donor?...but aren't they dead?" He asked, voice shaking.

Dr Graham bit his lip. Stiles' bloody and severed chest, organs and tissue suffering and dying as his heart was pulled from his chest. The doctor flinched as the memory flashed across his mind. "Truly dead Scott. But...I'm afraid...I'm afraid you knew them" he said.

Faces and names flashes across Scott's eyes, trying to think of someone that had died, someone so selfless and giving that they willing gave up their heart when they died.

"Wouldn't they have to be around my age? I didn't know anyone around my age that has died." He said, his confusion mounting.

Dr Graham almost choked...Yes, Stiles had been very young. Too young.

"Too young" he whispered. He knew we should really just be straight with the boy...but he couldn't find the courage in his heart.

"Young? What, you took a little kids heart?" Yamamoto said, feeling his - not his - heart speed up.

"No Scott...he gave it up for you...he died for you"

The doctors words hit Scott like a train...someone had died for the sole purpose of making sure he lived. Who could be so selfless to give up their life for his? Who would be so stupidly kind to give up their heart?

Oh god.

"No..." Scott began, climbing from his bed despite the pain in his chest...and the building pain much deeper and much more lethal.

"You can't... _no_...not him...don't tell me it was him!" He cried, tears falling from his eyes.

The doctor only looked down...and Scott's whole world shattered.

He vaguely heard himself screaming, screaming for hell to swallow him whole. He felt pain rip his chest in half. Reducing him to tatters.

He could only see Stiles' face, his laugh, his smile surround him and suffocate him.

He grasped his chest, feeling Stiles' heart beat inside him. He grasped at it, clawed at it. He didn't even feel himself pull out his own stitches...he only wanted it out. He wanted it back in Stiles' chest. He didn't want it... It was Stiles', it wasn't his. He heard himself scream again, felt people restrain him as he screamed himself hoarse. His cries of agony echoing from the walls.

He felt a needle enter his arm...

And then Oblivion claimed him too.

 

.

.

.

 

There he was...right in front of him. Over the past few weeks Scott dreamed to see Stiles in front of him.

But not like this...never like this.

He looked down at the freshly turned earth. He looked at the flowers. He looked at the tombstone.

_Genim "Stiles" Stilinski_

_8/4/1999 - 28/4/2015_

_Aged 15_

He took a deep shaking breath, wiping away his drying tears. He walked forward, bouquet in hand. He walked, each step becoming the hardest he had had to walk in his short life.

He reached the grave, not paying attention as the groundsmen disappeared. He looked down at the fresh earth that his best friend lay beneath. He reigned back his tears before they appeared, going onto his haunches.

He tried not to look at the grave that stood, old but just as elegant next to Stiles' own grave.

He looked at the Stiles' grave stone, before looking at the flowers beneath it. He gently lent forward, placing the white chrysanthemums against his grave. The only other bouquet was the one supplied by the cemetery...and they were roses. They weren't even the right colour, for crying out loud.

Scott sighed again. Before he sat down, crossing his legs right on the edge of the earth.

"So this is it then?" He asked the grave, and the decaying body beneath. "This is where we end up." He said, popping the 'p' with his lips.

"I know you got the doctor to tell me your last words...but I want you to hear mine. But, unlike you...these won't be my last words to you. I will have much more to say to you as I age and grow, knowing full well that you will not."

"I'm sorry too. You shouldn't have been in the position where you had the opportunity to save me. We both know that you would do it again given half the chance. I know it was your choice, and I'm sorry that it was. I don't hate you, I never could...I love you too. You are my brother, my best friend. I will love you forever."

"I will never ever forget these past few months. They have changed me forever...you changed me forever. You made me an honest person, and real person. Your impact on my life will continue to change me. I can never forget you Stiles, because your love was not easy to receive...nor will it easy to forget."

"I will strive to do my best throughout my life...I will try to do that miraculous thing just for you Stiles. But, even if I succeed...I won't accept paradise. Even if I deserve it...I would rather search for you in oblivion for eternity." he stated, crystalline tears flowing.

"And if I find you" he began "...I will never, ever, let you leave me again" he vowed.

He sat for a little while longer, just sitting and pretending he could feel Stiles presence next to him.

He slowly made his way to his feet, standing up. He looked down one more time, smiling painfully at the grave

"See you later, Stiles" he said, and walked away.

He started his walk down the path, before he came across a sobbing man only a few meters from Stiles' (and his mother's) grave.

It was Stiles' dad.

Scott stopped in his tracks. He turned, watching him sob into his hands.

"Stop it" he said, knowing exactly how rude he was being. The man turned to face him, face ugly from crying and dried tears on his cheeks.

"Excuse you? My son just died...you have no right-"

"I have no right? Well, you're a thoughtless _and_ dumb bastard" he stated, moving closer and facing the ex-husband and ex-father completely. "I was his friend, his only friend thanks to you." He growled out.

"His heart is in my chest." He said, stabbing his finger into his chest with every word, his anger and grief for all to see.

"I have part of him in my body, and you say I have no right?... I have more of a damn right to mourn him than you do!" He yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The man only looked at him in shock

"I know what you really are. I saw his scars, I saw his pain...and for what? Why did you make him suffer?" He questioned, his pain for all to see.

"I don't know-"

"Oh yes you _do_." He spat "You know exactly what you did to him. You knew he had scars and wounds from you...you just chose to ignore it. You chose to ignore him, and he deserved much much better than that. He deserved so much better than you." He said, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"But he still loved you, did you know that? You hurt him, beat him, scarred him...and he still loved you. He still saw that somewhere, deep inside your cold heart that there was a smidgen of kindness in you. He still believed you could love him, that you could fix things for your family"

"But you didn't even try...and now he's dead. He died for me, believing that it would be better for me to live than him. Nobody, nobody believes others lives' higher than their own. But he did. He saw that this was as far as he was going to get, that you weren't planning on saving yourself or him anytime soon. And he made a decision nobody else could. I was dying...and he made the decision to save me."

"And he thought" Scott was sobbing through his words. "He thought that he wasn't worth enough to live. He didn't see himself to be worth much more than spare parts...all because of you. You wore him down, shattered his self esteem and broke his mind. You made him like that, you made him feel so worthless. But, despite your efforts; he had a heart of gold...and now he's gone"

Scott dried his eyes, reigning his mourning for the time being. He glared at the horrible excuse for a father with eyes burning in hatred.

"You know what. Sob, cry...I really don't care. I hope you feel pain. I hope you feel as much pain as you caused Stiles. He didn't deserve it...but you do. As much as I hate you, I hope you can actually learn from this. I wouldn't want to see anyone else suffer the same fate."

"And here is no one else to blame. This fate of your wife and your son dying is all on you. You blamed Stiles for your wife's death, for his own mother's fatal illness that hurt him just as much as it hurt you. You hurt him and beat him, and now he's dead too. There is nobody else, nobody left, to blame."

"You can't blame him anymore...Because you killed him too."

"You see that grave? See that grave next to your wife's? That's your sons. Your own flesh and blood. And you put him there." Scott said, anger gone and now just felt so bitter and empty. And Stiles wasn't there to fill that emptiness again.

He was so empty.

Stiles' heart beat in his chest, every stolen beat echoing hollowly. Because Stiles had saved his life. Given Scott his heart

But everything else had died with him.

"You, Mr Stilinski, killed your son. Never forget that" he said, before turning on his heel and walking away. But, not before he uttered one last sentence, carried into the wind and into the sky...his promise forever circulating the earth.

"Because I _never_ will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for reading! 
> 
> -SephrinaRose


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